


When The Day Met The Night

by benluck



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: M/M, Teeny bits of violence, fluff kinda, forehead references, i apologize in general for this story, it really is complete bullshit, milk fic references, ryan's a potty mouth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:33:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3874069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benluck/pseuds/benluck
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bullshit fic to get the weird stuff out of my system. May or may not have an ending. Ryan lives in a shitty hotel, but so does Brendon. I think most of this is a reference to Pretty Odd so I apologize in general for my crap.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is gonna be really shitty. I apologize, once again.  
> x~Al

Ryan hated Brendon. Ryan hated Brendon's friends and Brendon's sports and Brendon's girlfriend. Yeah, Ryan really hated Sarah fucking Orzechowski. Ryan hated Brendon's hands, or his fists, rather. 

But at the same time, Ryan loved Brendon. Ryan loved Brendon's eyes and Brendon's smile and Brendon's voice. He loved Brendon's guitar and his bullshit sarcasm. 

And yeah, maybe Ryan's life was really shitty, and maybe he was living in a shitty hotel room because his parents kicked him out due to his flaming homosexuality, and maybe Brendon beat him up almost everyday, but at least he wasn't getting milk enemas in a hotel bathroom.

Not yet, anyway. 

Regardless of what his life was like, or how he was going to get money for his shitty hotel room, Ryan had detention that day for getting caught ditching. He walked slowly to the office, where the dinosaur lady sent him off to the theatre to 'pick up trash or something.' 

Ryan lazily walked to the theatre, hands shoved deep in his skinny jeans, not really paying attention to where he was going. 

Which is how Ryan found himself being shoved hard from behind. Not being able to pull his hands out of his skinny jeans fast enough, he rams headfirst into the lockers on the side of the hallway. 

He hoped he left a dent. Maybe then the lockers will be searched and the druggies who beat him a few weeks ago will actually go to juvie. 

Ah, false hope.

Ryan fell to the ground, listening to the sounds of several loud laughs echoing down the hall. He can't really tell if they're still here or if they're walking away; the world is spinning and his forehead is pretty fucked up. 

But not as fucked up as Brendon's. I mean, come on, there's no helping that. 

Speaking of Brendon, his voice happened to be the only clear thing in his head at the moment. All he heard was, "What the fuck guys? You don't push people from behind like that. Oh fuck, you really fucked him up." 

Ryan sensed someone kneeling next to him, and opened his eyes to Brendon and his huge ass forehead. 

"Your forehead is really fucked up," Brendon held Ryan's chin in his hand and tilted his head in different directions to scope the extent of the damage.

And of course, being the idiotic little shit that he is, Ryan managed to muster up just enough strength to mutter, "Not as fucked up as yours."

Brendon tapped Ryan's chin with his middle finger, where he still held him, saying, "Shut it, Ross, I'm trying to help you out here. Where were you headed?" 

"Theatre. Detention." 

"Okay, I'm gonna pick you up. Close your eyes," Brendon said, wrapping one arm around Ryan's waist and the other around his knees. 

"Fuck off, I'm fine," Ryan mumbled, but curled closer into Brendon's chest.

But, you know, no homo, at least in Brendon's case. 

Brendon carried Ryan to the office and pushed the door open with his shoulder. 

"I'm gonna take Ryan home, I found him like this. He got beat up by some other guys who were heading to detention," Brendon explained to the dinosaur lady, who actually didn't give a shit and just waved them away from her crossword. 

Brendon carried Ryan to his car gently setting him down in the passenger seat before jogging around to the driver's side. 

"Alright, Ross, I would take you to my house to fix you up, but I'm not actually allowed there until I decide to pursue something other than music, so where am I taking you?" Brendon asked almost lazily, backing out of the space and speeding out of the parking lot. 

"I'm at the fucking shitty ass hotel down the street," Ryan mumbled, fighting the sick feeling that was building in his stomach. 

"No kidding! Me too." 

"Wow, it's a fucking Christmas miracle. Why the hell do you need to 'fix me up' anyhow, I'm perfectly fine?" 

"We'll let me ask you this, Ross. What time is it?" Brendon asked, pulling into the hotel lot and shutting of the engine. 

"It's, ah, I dunno, like nine in the afternoon, maybe?" 

Brendon giggled and replied, "And that's why you need fixed up." 

"Huh?" Ryan asked, confused. Brendon just rolled his eyes. He got out of the car, heading around to the other side. He took Ryan back into his arms, carrying him to his room on the ground floor. 

"Ryan, there's no such thing as nine in the afternoon. If I didn't know that you have a world class concussion, I'd say you were on some serious shit right now." 

Ryan cursed under his breath, but replied, "Oh, so we're on a first name basis now, are we, Brendon?" 

Brendon grinned, opening the door with one hand and trying to support all of Ryan's weight with the other. "I suppose so."

"I can fucking walk," Ryan said, squirming out of Brendon's arms. He stayed upright in the middle of Brendon's slightly nicer hotel room for a moment for promptly falling over. 

"Yeah, sure you can. Get on the bed," Brendon said, but I mean, no homo, right? 

Ryan crawled over to the bed, absolutely not at all resembling the Ryan Ross found in that spectacularly milk-filled work of art. He sat on the edge and Brendon walked over to him with a washcloth in hand. 

"Hold still," he said, wiping the blood off Ryan's forehead. 

Ryan, not being able to stand the almost comfortable feeling settling between them said, "Has anyone ever told you that your forehead is fucking massive." 

Brendon laughed loudly and replied, "That's not the only part of my anatomy they call massive." 

Ryan can't help but blush and decided to change the subject. "Why are you doing this? You beat me up like every fucking day." 

"Because maybe, Ross, I'm like a thirteen year old boy. Maybe I beat you up because I don't want to admit I have feelings for you." 

Brendon kneeled to Ryan's level, putting his hands on Ryan's knees, and said, "But after seeing those guys beat you up in the hall, there's absolutely no denying it. I wanted to kill them, and I didn't realize why until I saw you sitting there, looking so fucking lost. Ryan Ross, I have feelings for you."


	2. Chapter 2

Ryan tried to ignore Brendon for as long as he could. He wasn't necessarily trying to be rude, but Ryan was angry and practically in love with the asshole. Maybe it was a good thing that Brendon actually liked him back, but Ryan ignored Brendon anyway. He wasn't just angry, he was pissed. Brendon wasn't allowed to do this. Not after beating him to a bloody mess everyday for the past year. He can't just turn around and suddenly have "feelings" for Ryan. 

No. Ryan called bullshit. 

So Ryan spent the next hour moping on Brendon's slightly nicer, but still shitty, couch while Brendon tuned his guitar in the bedroom. After a while Brendon decided he was going to cook them dinner, even though he fucking sucks at cooking. Ryan watched him, trying his best to look angry, but couldn't help but smile at the mess Brendon was making. He danced around the tiny kitchen, doing a really shit job at keeping the place clean. 

"Shit, Brendon, you really can't cook, can you?" Ryan stood and walked over to Brendon, taking the pan from him and scraping the ruined chicken breast from the bottom of it. 

"Fuck off, Ross, why the hell would I know how to cook?" 

In response, Ryan simply sprayed the bottom of the pan with oil and took the other chicken breast from the pack. He turned back to the stove and set it to the right temperature, starting to cook it evenly. While he did this Brendon watched, arms crossed over his chest and the biggest fucking grin stretched over his face. 

"How the hell did you get this shit, anyway? Aren't you, like, cut off or whatever?" Ryan shot a glance over his shoulder at Brendon. 

"Well I am, kinda. I stole my dad's credit card before I left, and they haven't figured it out yet," Brendon answered. Ryan finished the chicken, cutting it in half and setting a half each on a couple of plates Brendon got from the cupboard. He didn't see any vegetables anywhere, so he just opened a bag of chips and put some on both plates. He handed one plate to Brendon, grabbing a fork for him as well, and the stood by the counter to eat.

"Wow, you actually know how to fucking cook." 

"Yeah, my parents taught me awhile back, before they..."Ryan trailed off. He didn't want to say it. 

"They kicked you out, didn't they?" Brendon reached out and rested a hand on Ryan's shoulder. Ryan dropped his fork and hid his face in his hands. He drooped, his shoulders and head falling a few inches. Though Brendon was shorter, he stood tall in that moment, pulling Ryan's hunched form into his chest. Ryan buried his face into Brendon's neck, not caring that this was the guy who beat him up practically every day. Brendon rubbed Ryan's back comfortingly. 

"Fuck, that came out way too blunt, I'm sorry. Hey, it's okay, it's fine, you're fucking fine Ryan, you're okay," Brendon and Ryan shook from Ryan's tears in the middle of Brendon's shitty hotel room. 

"I'm sorry, shit, I'm crying all over you," Ryan sniffled and started to pull back. Brendon stopped him before he could pull back all the way. He leaned their foreheads together.

"You're okay, now, Ry, I promise." 

A knock sounds on Brendon's door and startled them both. 

"Fuck, it's Sarah," Brendon pulled away awkwardly, blushing. Ryan just rolled his eyes and jumped onto the counter. Brendon shoots an apologetic glance in Ryan's direction before opening the door. The fucker. 

Sarah Orzechowski sauntered in, smiling at Brendon. She stopped when she saw Ryan swinging his long ass legs over the side of the counter. 

"You actually got Ross into your hotel room? How'd you manage that, Bren?" 

What the fuck? 

"Uh, I saw some guys push him into some lockers. He has a concussion, I think. Look, you need to explain to him what's going on between us. He fucking hates you, but only because you're with me." 

Ryan looked between the two of them, confused. Brendon sent both Sarah and Ryan reassuring glances. Finally, Sarah sighed heavily. 

"This is all just a cover. I'm a lesbian, but I'm not allowed to be. Brendon's gay. Well, kinda. He's bi, I guess. This relationship is basically our cover-up so that we kind say we've been out with each other, when we actually weren't." 

"So basically, I've been 'dating' Sarah so that she had an alibi, but all this time I actually wanted to date you."

Ryan stared at the two of them blankly, completely blown away. All he could think to say was, "Things are shaping up to be pretty odd." 

What a fucking idiot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to slip that little reference in at the end. Hey, while you're here, you should go check out the story that I'm actually putting effort into...it's called Take Me Home.  
> x~Al

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah I actually might have a plan for this now. Stay tuned, I guess?  
> x~Al


End file.
